Anarchist
by Argleblather
Summary: Not everyone subscribes to the idea blind faith is the answer at the end of the world.  Nick Andros/OC. I like to write dirty stuff and angsty stuff. So, that creeps in. Contains major eventual spoilers and plot fux.
1. Chapter 1: On the Diagonal

_***/Author's note: I have an inability to deal with character death. (Spoiler) Which means I'm going to fuxx hardcore with some major plot points. I've also (in my head, if not in the story explicitly) bumped things into the modern day. If SK can do it, updating from late seventies to early nineties, I guess it's ok if I do it too. This story also gets a little uh- naked in places. The M rating is deserved, just a slow build up to it. 've tried not to Marysue too badly. Please review or feel free to contact me. As always, The Stand, the characters (except for the one not in the book), and most of the plot don't belong to me. Enjoy!/***_

Nick stood at the edge of Main street, looking back over Boulder's main thoroughfare. A few people were milling about, stretched out on the town common or just picking through the open storefronts for necessities. Most people however, were occupied at the power plant, working at winding copper wire around the generators, or on the cleanup crews, shoveling dead bodies into trucks and mass graves. A third faction prowled the mountains and forests searching for Mother Abagail. It seemed that there were plenty of jobs available to those who wanted them, and not nearly enough hands to do all the work. With the other members of the committee thus occupied, Nick found himself at somewhat of a loss.

Searching for Mother Abagail he'd be pure useless, unable to hear a call or respond to a walkie-talkie, or make a call on one. And he'd have to be on foot, not a motorcycle like the rest of the search party. He'd debated learning to ride a motorcycle, but the thought of crashing it, father out than he would get on a bike and being unable to call for help, or running headlong into a car he couldn't hear coming gave him a queasy unsettled, feeling in the pit of his, stomach. No, the bike would have to do.

The power plant was a similar situation. He'd been out with Brad Kitchener earlier, helping supervise, but the crew only needed so many "chiefs" as Ralph said. When the plant was up and running, the machinery was rigged to set off warning lights, but until things were up and running, all of the emergency communication was still auditory. He had thought about the clean up crew, but was afraid that without the interaction of other voices, other people, the constant press of dead bodies around him would drive him nuts. Today was a rare day when he didn't have a project to work on, and he felt restless and ill at ease. Without something concrete to work on, he felt more aware of the growing population of people around him. Initially, he'd craved the contact with other people, and when it had been he, and Tom, and Ralph and Dick- that had been fine. Comfortable. Now there were as, many unfamiliar faces in Boulder as there were familiar ones, with more new ones coming in every day. And they all seemed to look to the committee for guidance. First they came, asked for Mother Abagail, and then wanted to know who was in charge- and looked at him.

He sat on the bench in front of the drugstore and watched those people walking across the common. The gregarious, ready way that humans paired off wasn't lost on Nick. A good deal of the men and women who arrived in Boulder were already spoken for, hitched to someone they had been traveling with, like Larry and Lucy, or Stu and Fran. Nick thought uncomfortably of Julie Lawry, a little disgusted with himself, but too realistic to presume that beggars could be choosers. He supposed, that so long as he was wandering around, before the plague, it had been easy to presume that he was solitary because he never stayed long in one place. Now however, he wondered if that had really been the case. If maybe there was something more fundamentally flawed in him, that would ensure he would remain solitary, while he watched the rest of the world pair up around him. _No__, __that__'__s __not __fair__,_ he thought, _I__'__ll__ always __have __Tom__. __He __needs __me__. _Still, Tom's friendship wasn't quite the kind of companionship he found himself missing as he watched a couple in their mid thirties settle under a tree, the man- Aaron something-or-other, he recalled, fluffing out a red and white checked cloth for them to sit on.

He wondered to himself, not for the first time, if he was doomed to having his sexual encounters reduced to curiosity in the Free Zone as they often had been before the flu. Not that those had been so easy to come by either. Mostly women he met traveling, sometimes those who picked up him hitchhiking, or random encounters, like Julie Lawry, who wanted to know if his dick worked normally, or if whatever had affected his ears and throat extended to that region as well. It didn't, which he could have told them, if they'd have asked. But it wasn't the kind of thing people ever asked. Julie had been a rude anomaly in that regard. Everything worked properly, and he was young, as much in his prime as he would ever be.

Shaking the uncomfortable thoughts off, Nick rose, still feeling a jangling sense of disquiet in his limbs. He debated perusing Boulder's bookstores for something else to add to his small library, and hesitated. The bookstores had been pretty well picked over by the town's residents, desperate for entertainment as much as they were for light and food. And in some ways, he felt obligated to leave books in the stores for other members who might need them more. And half of the stores were empty, the shelves were now husks, empty of the collections they had once held. Still, he straddled his bike, looking off into space contemplatively, his dark eyes far away in thought. _Longmont__ isn__'__t __that __far __from__ here__. __I __can __bike __there __and __back __in __a__ day __easily__. __And__ I__'__m__ sure __it__'__s __not __going __to __be __as__ picked __over__ as __anywhere __here __in __Boulder__. __And__ there__'__s __people __in __and__ out __of __there __pretty __regularly__. _With that thought in mind, assuaging his concerns about ending up stranded without the ability to call for help, he turned then pedaled toward the diagonal, heading north east at a decent clip.

It was a little over ten miles from the edge of Boulder to the main street in Longmont, and nearly lunchtime, the sun high in the sky by the time Nick arrived and he wished he'd had the forethought to bring something from home to eat. True, he could always find something, some stored good in a grocery store, but it wasn't the same really as packing a meal on purpose. To him, it felt too much like foraging, and those lonely wandering days between Shoyo and May. The feeling was not altogether unpleasant, however. There was something carefree about that time, when he didn't have other people looking to him for direction, and himself the only person to look after.

His first stop, was the local grocery, where he found some packages of saltines and crackers, and spray cheese. He rounded out the meal with six oreos, packing another half dozen or so away to snack on when he rode home. He washed his lunch down with a warm Pepsi, enjoyed leaning against the front of the store. He wasn't sure if it was indulgent or not, but it felt good to be out on his own, independent. He felt free, for the first time in a long time, watching the dust devils blow across the wide empty main street. The solitude didn't worry him as much now, knowing that there were still other people, that he wasn't the only one. And the dreams had ceased weeks ago. Upon meeting others, the fear that he'd been going mad was quickly assuaged. Or else they were all going mad in the same way. With that anxiety laid aside, the peace was refreshing. Nick let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding and turned his face up to the afternoon sun.

Halfway down main street, among the shells of a pawn shop, and what had been an art gallery, filled with the dusty remnants of long dead folk artistry, he found a used book store that had what he wanted, shelves lined with everything he could hope to read, including an extensive sci-fi section. _Everyone__ who __wrote __ever __wrote __a __book __is __now __dead__._ The thought gave him a chill and he shuddered coldly. Thankfully, the thought was easily brushed away, and he began perusing the stacks, loading up on new paperbacks, and a hard-backed book on government and political policies in the United states around the turn of the century. He wasn't sure if that last would be useful or not, but he figured it couldn't hurt. There was the meeting with Al Bundell coming up later this week, and he thought it wouldn't be a good idea to have some information about law development on hand.

With his load settled comfortably against his back, Nick mounted his bike, and headed farther down main street, past the bookstore and a few empty insurance agencies. He had an idea to take some of the winding back roads on the way back. Since he was sixteen, he'd been on the move, and was accustomed to being active on a daily basis and he hadn't realized how much he missed that aspect of life, while living in Boulder. It would take longer, maybe two hours to get home on the farm roads, but it would also give him a chance to actually see some of the scenery in between places, heading up to the mountains.

_I__ wonder __if __anyone __ever __just__- __stops __to __look __at __the __country __anymore__? __We __were__ all__ so __busy __looking__ for __other __people__, __we__ stopped__ looking __at __anything__ else__ around__ us__. __I__ think __Mother__ Abagail __would __have __something__ to__ say __about __that__, __about __our __relationship __to __the __land__. _His mind wandered over this territory, and where Mother Abagail might have gotten to. He was saddened and confused by her disappearance, more than most maybe. It seemed a waste to him, to lose a person who was had been such a powerful force in drawing them all together, simply because of a perceived guilt trip from God. _If__ there __even __is __such__ a __thing__._ In spite of everything that had happened, Nick remained unconvinced. He was willing to accept the reality of the Dark Man, the Walkin' Dude, as an actuality, because Mother Abagail was a real person. But an agent of the Devil? Were they on a religious quest? _No__. __I __don__'__t __think __so__. __I __don__'__t __believe__ that__._

Thus lost in thought, he almost missed the stalking grey shapes passing the field to his right, about 50 yards away from where the asphalt sloped into a drainage ditch, the field stretching out to a farmhouse and barn, the door flapping open in the light froze, his bike skidding a little at the sudden halt in momentum, his heart thumping into his ears. He reached to his hip and mentally cursed himself, he hadn't even brought his pistol, the revolver he'd carted all the way from Shoyo, with him on this trip. _It __serves __you__ right__, __get __eaten __by __wolves __and __no __one __even __knows __you__'__re __out __here__. __You__'__re __a __damned__ fool __for __coming __out __here __on__ your __own__._ A hot loose feeling settled in his groin as he watched the small wolf pack stalking across the overgrown hay field. Off in the distance, a few cattle lowed nervously and shuffled farther away from the canines.

The wolves had something other in mind than the cattle far afield however, they seemed intently focused on some movement in the waist-high grass, growing brown and dry in the fall Indian summer. Nick watched the silent play, captivated, praying that their attention would remain focused. He willed himself to move on, to get away before he was noticed, bu he couldn't seem to make his legs work. He remained glued in the center of the road, fixated, heart pounding. His attention was focused on the three wolves padding through the grass, and as he watched, one of them dropped cold, a hole appearing between its eyes and the other two crouched low, becoming almost invisible in the grass. He looked, to see where the shot had come from, and saw a figure stand, rifle held to its shoulder. The figure was covered mostly in a dark hooded sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up, revealing skinny red-streaked arms, face hidden from view, and it raised the rifle to the sky. If Nick had been able, he would have heard a stream of obscenities skating across the afternoon air.

"HAAAH! Motherfucker, YAAH! What now, huh cocksucker! What NOW!"

To his surprise, rather than cutting and running from the other two wolves, capitalizing on their stunned hesitation, the figure raced forward, brandishing what Nick could have sworn was a bayonet, or a machete. Seeing the two wolves, unafraid of this lone madman crouch, ready to spring, finally set Nick to motion. Not away from the fray, but toward it. He dropped the bike and ran into the field, waving his hands frantically, hoping, somewhere in the back of his mind to give the other figure enough time to reload before the wolves could spring. If he could have cried out, he would have, instead settling for making as much of a presence as he could, hoping to draw the animals off.

The figure turned toward the man running across the field, grasping quickly what his purpose was. Although it might get him killed. Would probably get him killed, in fact. Unsure about the bloody figure with the weapon, who had already killed one of them, the wolves turned toward the newcomer with a snarl. The hooded figure thumbed two more slugs into the rifle, firing both barrels at the farthest wolf, the one closest to the dark haired man. It fell, shoulder and leg blown away in bloody spatter. Not dead, but mortally wounded. Nick stopped short, saw one of the wolves fall in a bleeding heap. He gaped, then turned, seeing the other wolf close upon him and turned back toward the road, sprinting for all he was worth. His breath rasped sharply in his chest, feeling like sandpaper drawn across his lungs. He dared not look back around, ready to feel either bullets racing through his body, or sharp teeth pulling at the back of his neck with deadly urgency.

The remaining wolf raced behind him with eager grinning glee, bounding through the standing hay. It didn't growl, its paces were deadly and silent, whatever it had been stalking in the grass forgotten in the light of moving prey. Unseen behind the two runners engaged in a race for Nick's life, the hooded figure sprinted after them, machete raised, crying out a war whoop echoing across the field. Nick panted; his heart thudding painfully in his chest. His vision whammed in and out, arms and legs pistoning frantically as he sprinted for the road. At first, he wasn't sure if the bolt of tearing pain up his calf was a cramp or not, until he felt heat running down his leg, soaking into his jeans. _No__- _His mind panted frantically, _No__, __no__, __no__- __is__ this __what __happens__? __What __the __hell __was __the __point __of i__t __all__? __Crossing __the __country __on __foot__, __on __a __bike__, __only__ to __be __torn__ down__ by __a __wolf__ 10 __miles __from __home__? __Because __I __started __to __feel __a __little __boxed__ in__? _In his panic, and terror he'd forgotten the stranger. He stumbled, fell, sprawled on the crunching carpet of hay, his face twisted in a rictus of pain and dismayed terror. He waited for the wolf's teeth to sink into his neck, clawing at the dry soil.

The bite didn't come, and when Nick looked back, he saw why. The stranger had abandoned the rifle, giving chase as well, and had hacked at the wolf's spine with what Nick was now able to identify as a machete. It was standing over the prone body of the wolf,which was still writhing and snarling, a bloody machete raised over its hooded head. As he watched, the machete came down, severing the wolf's head with a _chunk_ that Nick felt from his position on the ground. For a moment there was no movement from either party. Then, the stranger pushed back the hood and revealed herself to be female, with a rather short pointed nose and tanned skin, and high cheekbones. Her pale grey eyes were bright with adrenaline and exaltation. She crouched, lifted the shaggy wolf's head by the scruff and held it to the sky, her lips peeled back in a wild, ululating cry of victory, and her short dark hair whipped around her face. As he watched, she held the head up, waving it back and forth, then drop kicked it, sending it into the field like a furry soccer ball. Aghast, Nick held his position on the ground, uncertain of his fate regarding the madwoman. He wasn't sure if he should flee or anticipate help from her. Without examining his wound, he wasn't sure if he _could_ flee. She turned to him and offered one hand to him, the, palm streaked with some kind of red tacky stuff. From the smell, Nick knew it was blood. He looked up at her uncertainly before taking the offered hand.

"Shit, are you okay? Did it get you?" Nick saw her lips frame the words and nodded. He staggered to his feet, lifting his injured leg a little to keep weight off it. The grip that helped him to his feet was strong, her hands cool under the tacky glove of blood. He looked down his torn pant leg, and was dismayed to see it red below the knee, coating the back of his calf.

_There__'__s__ no __way __I __can __bike __back __like __this__. _He tested the leg and a bolt of pain raced up his leg, spreading from the bite on his calf outward.

"Well, cock. Okay, can you gimp over this way?" She took a step back and jerked her head in the direction she had come from. "I can give you a hand-" again, Nick nodded, and without the ability to write, he was incommunicado, as he had been so many years ago, before the flu, before Rudy, reduced to what simple pantomimes he could do with one hand.

Standing, he saw the woman was a about six inches shorter than he was, and leaning on her for help felt a little awkward. He accepted the help though. The pain in his leg was savage, not as bad as the bullet graze, he was afraid he would need stitches. Or that the wolf had been rabid. Madly he wondered if George Richardson back in Boulder had any of those shots to treat rabies on hand.

Together, they picked their way slowly past one, two, three dead wolves, stretched out still and somehow hollow, all threat of attack negated. Nick saw as they approached the place the woman had come from what had drawn the wolves. Stripped of its hide and partially butchered was the carcass of a longhorn steer, meat from it stacked neatly on a clean blue tarp next to the body. In front of the half-dismantled carcass was a large white book, with a diagram explaining about beef grades, and depicting the carcass of a cow, with the cuts of meat separated and described. She lead him to a white hulking truck, hip deep in hay, mostly hidden behind the barn. The truck was a massive Chevy, equipped with off-road tires, splattered with mud up to the door handles in places, the truck bed open and facing the carcass. The woman hoisted herself up and opened up the storage box near the cab, pulling out a smaller white box with a red cross on it. A first aid kit. Nick breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. He had no desire to risk infection again. The woman sat on the tailgate of the truck and offered Nick a hand, helping him climb up next to her.

"Okay, hang on." She opened the kit, and pulled out some pain relieving tablets and pressed the paper packet into Nick's hand, "take those first." Nick swallowed them dry, crumpling the paper packet in his hand. Next she rummaged out a pair of blunt-tipped scissors and used them to cut up the side of Nick's pant-leg to examine the wound. He craned his neck to see, and saw the tight press of her lips instead. She worked quickly, efficiently and poured first half a bottle of water from the storage box over the wound, rinsing it off. The wound looked ugly, the wolf's teeth had attempted to chew a piece out of the lower part of Nick's calf, and his sock was stained dark maroon with blood. Sharp teeth had attempted to tear at the muscle, and Nick saw that if it had been an inch or two closer it would have succeeded in dragging him down by the Achilles tendon and crippling him, not just wounding him. Ignorant of Nick's grimace over his wound, she focused on a brown bottle of peroxide, which she opened and poured over Nick's wound. It bubbled furiously and Nick winced, gritting his teeth. "I know, I know." The woman shook her head and unwrapped a piece of sterile gauze to dress the wound and stop the blood flow as much as possible. "Press on that." With her head bent, Nick missed the sense of her words and she grabbed his hand, pressing it firmly to the gauze while she tore off a few pieces of medical tape to hold it in place.

Once he was bandaged, she sat back on her hands, legs dangling off the tailgate of the truck. "Well, I think you'll live. They weren't rabid, just dirt-mean. All of the predators out here seem to be- preternaturally nasty." She patted his good knee and offered a half smile. Nick looked back at her gratefully. With his leg cleaned and bandaged, the pain was less, and his panic about rabies was abating. He reached for the notebook in his denim shirt pocket and wrote, _`Thank__ you__.' _He paused, then followed that line with another, _'My__ name__ is __Nick __Andros__. __I __am __a __deaf__-__mute__. __I __can __read __lips__.'_ She read his note and her brow furrowed. For a moment, Nick was afraid that it would be his encounter with Tom all over, she wouldn't be able to read. Instead, the woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a pencil, scratching on his piece of paper before handing it back. She'd altered it, and when he read it back, it said, _'My __name __is __Nick __Andros__, __I __am__ deaf __and __mute__.'_ He tipped his head at the change. "It's nice to meet you Nick. My name is Maggie English."

Nick shook her hand and smiled. She'd been prepared for contingencies, without knowing he would be there. It reminded him a little of when he'd met Mother Abagail, and she'd already had supper on for them. As if she'd been waiting.


	2. Chapter 2: Twin Peaks

Nick helped Maggie cut up the rest of the cow and load it onto the tarp, and then into the back of the truck. Though he was afraid he wasn't that much help, he felt it was the least he could do. He wondered if anyone else had had the idea to hunt the remaining cows around Boulder, and thought of the buffalo he and Tom had seen in Kansas.

There were plenty of them, the flu had carried off the horses and dogs, but not the cows. Pigs and chickens were also fine, he'd seen that for himself back in Nebraska. By the time they'd finished, they were streaked to the elbows with blood. He realized they looked rather like a couple of walking dead themselves, coated with gore, and the thought sent a chill down his spine. He looked back at the woman, Maggie, as the truck jounced and rumbled across the field, mowing down the late-season hay. Her jeans were muddy, also streaked with blood where she'd wiped her hands on her hips several times while butchering. She stopped to pick up Nick's bike, which he loaded into the back next to the beef, tied in with a hank of rope. Maggie looked him over with a grimace when he got out of the car and shook her head. "You look like you've been ridden hard and put away wet. Do you want to stop at the mall here in town, and get some fresh clothes?" Nick nodded. Explaining the bite to poor Ralph when he got home was going to be hard enough.

"Okay. I'd offer you something of mine- but you're about six inches too tall for it. Although if you wanted to- I could use a hand putting all this away-" she jerked her head toward the back of the pickup, and the tarpaulin wrapped steer. Nick nodded, then took out his notepad. _I'm going to need to get back to Boulder. No one there knows where I am._

She read, and he thought he saw her face fall slightly as she folded his note up, lower lip poking out, in thought rather than a pout. "Okay. Sure- do you still want to stop? The mall is- on the way to the diagonal to Boulder." She seemed to set her mind in that direction, her stubborn chin a little tense. Nick studied her for a moment. Above the hood of her dirty sweatshirt, her face was streaked with blood and mud, a smudge lining her high cheekbone that faced Nick. He felt sorry for a moment that he couldn't stay, she seemed nice, and clever. Taking advantage of the roaming herds of newly wild cows was a good idea. She looked about his age, maybe a little older, it was hard to tell in the waning light of the afternoon.

But maybe he would see her around town. _Maybe she would want to come over to dinner__ with me, and Ralph and Elise- _She didn't feel like she belonged to the dark man, and he had none of the same misgivings that he did about Harold, or that strange Cross woman. She felt- good, to Nick, the way most of the people in Boulder did. Like home folks. He wrote and handed a note to her, tapping her shoulder lightly, _Where do you live? We could get some of my friends to help you with this too, if you want._

"Oh- I live about 5 miles south of Loveland." Maggie turned her head slightly toward him so that he could see her lips, and had a good view of the look of surprise that captured Nick's face. "No, I don't live in Boulder."

He wrote quickly, _There's plenty of room there, for everyone. You did a good job butchering that cow, and it was a good idea. W__e could use someone with those kind of ideas in Boulder._ He smiled as he handed over the note, eyebrows lifting faintly. It was all true, and he thought maybe Fran and Sue would like her too, he felt certain that Stu would. He thought too, of Glen saying something about a brain drain, losing people he'd gotten used to seeing around town. Charlie Impening was gone, and good riddance. But what if this stranger- was a plant for the dark man, or could be persuaded to be one?

"No." Her lips set in a firm line that surprised Nick, and he cocked his head to the side and drew a question mark in the air. "No, no thank you Nick. I was in Boulder, for a while." Maggie read his note again, resting at a stop sign, even though there was no traffic for Miles, Nick noticed most people still obeyed the street signs, and shook her head. "I was around there in August a little, to see what the lay of the land was. I saw the flyers about the town meeting, I went to the meeting anyway, to read the agenda. You're that Nick Andros? From that committee?" Nick missed her tone, which was narrowly suspicious, and he nodded. "Well. No offense. But it seems like- it's just starting everything up again, right where it left off with the flu, with the same things that got us there in the first place. Representation, government, committees, all of it. Pretty soon there will be a military again-" Her face clouded a little and she paused, letting the empty storefronts pass them by for a moment before she continued. Nick, sensing she had more to say, waited patiently. It was all he could do. "I wasn't very much for government and bureaucratic bullshit beforehand I guess. I don't see much point in it now either. No, no thank you Nick. I come in to Boulder sometimes, to visit with people or see how things are going, but I don't want to be under anybody's thumb."

Nick nodded, and a quiet fell between them that even he could sense a little uncomfortably. Her words fell along a similar line to his own leading up to the first town meeting. Those words, _Organization, Authority, Politics_ rolled ominously through his head again as he looked out the window, watching the silent monolith of the deserted shopping mall looming ahead of them. He could understand the objection to them easily. He had his own qualms about them, in the back of his mind. But he didn't see another solution on the horizon. Decisions needed to be made, about the power, and about food supplies, and medicine.

Maggie paused, rambling through the town, heading into the opposite lane a few times to avoid stalled cars in the street that hadn't been cleared out of this town yet. "And then- there's that other thing." Nick looked at her askance, drew a question mark with his index finger, "_You_ know. The dark man. The old woman." Understanding dawned on Nick's face and he nodded. "I don't want any part of it. I don't- believe that." Nick picked up his pen to write and she rested a hand on his arm and shook her head, "I mean, I do believe it. I know she's real, I saw her myself, I met her when I got into town, like everyone I guess. And I believe _he's_ real, I feel that's true as well. I mean, I don't believe _in _it. I don't want to spend my last days on earth, if these are them, as- some fucking pawn in a chess match between God and Satan, or Mother Abagail and some stranger in Las Vegas, or anything else. Even if he means to destroy all the rest of us- well- the flu damn near did that. If her God wanted to set up a winning hand, why let everyone else die and just leave a handful of stragglers, wandering the mountains? No. I don't buy it. I don't buy it, and I don't like it. I abstain. I refuse to take sides, although I guess I have already by being east of the Rockies. But I'm not going to play the game. My game is to survive, and then to thrive, as best as I can, for the rest of my days. However long that is."

She pulled up to the curb in front of the Twin Peaks Mall. _Wasn't there a show by that name at one point?_ Nick thought there had been. Some windows had been broken out, along with the doors, shattered glass littering the sidewalk. Some areas had been looted heavily in larger cities, but Nick supposed Longmont was small enough to have avoided the worst of the mid-epidemic crime wave. And after a few days, even the most stubborn looters were too sick to do much damage. He wrote as she parked the car and she waited, leaning over to read over his shoulder a little. _Don't you think you would have a better chance surviving in a community, along with other people?_

Maggie laughed as she got out of the car, tipping her head back. "Nope." She waited until Nck had gotten out on the other side to continue, "So far as I can tell, people in Boulder just want the lights back on so they can turn on their electric heat and pretend the plague never happened. That seems pretty goddamn stupid to me, to be quite frank." Pushing open the door to the large Sears department store she stopped and turned back to Nick. "Can you get around on your own in there, do you think?" Nick nodded. His leg pained him, but he could hop along easily enough on it. I'll meet you back at the front in twenty minutes? Do you have a watch?" Nick did, and he nodded again. He wrote, _Where are you going? _ "I want to get some things for the house while I'm in town is all." With that, she turned, picking her way through the tipped over display racks carefully, making her way out of sight into the store. Nick felt that a curtain had been drawn between them, and kicked a velvet box that had once contained an expensive watch out of his way. _It isn't fai__r,_ he thought, _I didn't ask for this._

He wondered briefly if she lived alone, or if there was someone else with her. If he had to hazard it, he would guess alone. Part of him wanted to see where she had set up. She didn't seem anxious, about the power, or about anything, and he wondered about that. If anything, she seemed a bit- miffed at the suggestion that she join the Free Zone. He pawed through the racks of clothes, and looked over his shoulder, needlessly making sure he was alone before leaning against a display case to strip off his damaged and stained corduroy pants, and pulled on a pair of dark blue jeans instead. He winced at the bruising and dried blood on his lower calf, and a moment's thought, he added a few more button down shirts, a package of clean socks and underwear, and another pair of jeans to his wardrobe. Much like the bookstores, the clothing stores in Boulder were also fairly picked over, and getting more so with each new group of people that arrived and re-outfitted themselves. There were over a thousand of them now, and more coming all the time. He'd been surprised how quickly common necessities like socks and underwear had disappeared from the stores.

With his clothing in tow, he was ready to leave. A little awkwardly, he made his way back to the front of the store and sat down on a bench, resting his injured leg. While he waited for Maggie to return, he tapped his pen against the notepad, her words cycling through his head. _'it seems like- it's just starting everything up again, rig__ht where it left off with the flu, with the same things __that got us there in the first place.'_ Maggie returned her arms laden with a large duffel bag, stuffed with something that poked out the canvas material at odd angles. Slung over her shoulder was a backpack medical kit, with another med kit hooked through the strap of the duffel. "Might as well stock up if the wolves are down out of the mountains. I can send you back with one of these too- in case you feel like wandering off on your own again." She winked and pressed the pack into his hands, along with another duffel bag for his clothes.

Nick stood and put the clothing in the bag. He handed her the note he'd been working on while he waited for her to get what she needed from the store. It was short, just one line. _If you don't mind, and if your offer still stands, I would like to see where you live. _

"Sure- if you want." Maggie watched him carefully, then shrugged. Maybe he wasn't a bad guy, and there was a lot of meat to bring in. The help would be welcome at any rate.


	3. Chapter 3: Renegade

Maggie had come east, from Washington state. When the flu hit the major cities, she flew from D.C. to Seattle to check up on family and then to bury them once the sickness had run its course. She'd thought about settling in and establishing a homestead in familiar country, would have, if not for the dreams. Like nearly everyone in the Free zone she discovered, she had dreamt of the old woman, and the dark man. Nebraska, and Las Vegas, and then, as she was heading southeast in a "borrowed" utility truck, of Boulder. Boulder was much closer. She had packed a pickup with a winch with supplies and headed toward Colorado, stopping to gather materials she might want along the way, not sure what she would find when she found the source of her dreams. If the old woman was the source of them.

She had arrived in Boulder when there were just a few hundred people around, most of them in already established groups of tens and twenty. Very few of the early arrivals were loners as she was. That was all right, she supposed. Everyone seemed eager to meet Mother Abagail, but mostly what Maggie wanted was to see the lay of the land. West was out of the question; the dark man in her dreams had left her waking up in a cold sweat, panting and clawing at unseen tethers. No, not west. But most of the people in Boulder didn't seem to be too interested in doing much more than feeding themselves from day to day, and poking around in what was left of civilization. There had been some people stepping up of course, a young man from the library who was reading up on farming, a girl named Lucy, about her age, who she talked to about sourdough starters on one of her trips into town, and Raul, who spent most of his time at the power plant, but who had a decent working knowledge of combustion engines and automotive repair. He thought he could get most of the cars running and out of the way with a little help.

There was plenty to sustain most people for the winter at least. But this new world wasn't just going to last through this winter, or next summer, she was certain of that. There was a battle coming, for the world, or for their souls, she supposed it didn't matter. Either way, Maggie considered herself to be a conscientious objector. Not a dark knight, nor a paladin, just another squire in the field. She remembered a tee shirt she'd seen in the back of a weekly free paper, depicting Stonehenge, glowing against a sunburst background. The caption read, "Give me that old time religion." Maggie liked that. No God-man in the clouds, wagging a finger. Just the sun, sky, and rocks. The tangible forces in the world. Things that could be seen, smelt, heard, touched, tasted, those were the things she believed in. The dark man, she felt certain, was outside that natural order. Some space-cowboy from another plane of existence maybe, but he didn't belong in this world, not really.

For that matter, the old woman was also outside the natural order of things, with her mind on God, and her great age. And Maggie wasn't quite sure what to make of that. It unsettled her, even though she loved the old woman's warmth and comforting presence as primitive man must have loved the great fire in the sky. But Maggie was not a primitive man, she was a modern human. She could make her own fire.

She hadn't stayed in Boulder long, a week was enough time for her to see that folks were just waiting for things to get back to normal. It didn't seem to occur to them that "normal" as they knew it didn't exist anymore. And that maybe "normal" as they had known it, wasn't such a good idea in the first place. She used the time to plan, and to think about where she'd best look to settle. Not too far from Boulder, she really didn't want to be too far from other, people. But not in town, where there wasn't any room to spread out, nor many natural resources to sustain a person in the long term. She had made with a list, starting with necessities, and working her way out to recreation. First, was food, water, and shelter. If she had those settled, the rest would take care of themselves in time. Knowing that west, deeper into the mountains was out of the question, she'd headed farther east, first thinking of Fort Collins, and the germplasm repository there, and then she'd found the small farm just south of Loveland. Originally it had been meant to be a guest ranch, providing the 'real ranch experience' to city slickers, with horseback rides and generous woodpiles and a stocked lake. It had what she wanted though, what she'd had in mind. The main house was enormous, with extra rooms for guests, and impossible to heat in the winter without electricity. No, what she wanted was one of the bunkhouses, which were much smaller, no more than two bedrooms, and with porches front and back. She was just one person, after all, what would she do with two floors and six bedrooms?

Most of her supplies had come from foraging local camping shops, home improvement stores, and bulk warehouse stores. Some things that wouldn't spoil quickly, honey, flour, vacuum sealed yeasts, sugars, flours, and coffees. She wasn't sure where coffee was going to come from once that was gone, and had a note to research it at the Loveland public library. With her list in mind, Maggie had taken special care to search out items that would be especially useful without power and running water, striving to keep in mind that necessities must come before convenience. Even though it was summer, and this August was an exceptionally warm one, a very long cold winter was just around the corner. She didn't know if anyone else was stockpiling wood, but the natural gas and oil was bound to run low sometime, and she didn't consider it to be a dependable resource in this new age.

Over the course of the last month, she thought she'd done all right for herself. There were plenty of cattle milling around, and she'd found a cow with a calf, and coaxed a bull to her farm with offers of fresh hay. A week later she had added another cow, a pretty tan Jersey. A curiosity of this particular region of Colorado, was the alpaca population. She'd counted at least five defunct farms on her way into town,, and well over hundred animals milling about. A hundred would be too many to care for, but she had planned to look for sheep, for yarn, and maybe meat, and supposed that a flock- _a herd?_ of alpaca would do just as well. Apparently they thrived here in the foothills of the mountains, and she managed to round up a handful of animals. With their shaggy coats, they could manage the winters fine, and then the soft fur could be spun into wool to make warmer clothing, or finer wool and thread for mending and weaving- if she could find a loom.

The days felt longer than the hours of sunlight allotted to this corner of the world, and each time Maggie lay her head down on the pillow at night, sleep came quickly. She felt at peace, free, foraging for herself, taking out the big Silverado to bring back tools and odds and ends, sheet metal she'd found at a metal working shop, including full tanks of oxy-acetylene, torches and masks. Once upon a time her dad had worked as a machinist, and had taught her the very basics of joining metal. She supposed it would come in handy around the farm, and had an idea to make a metal food storage cabinet to put on the back deck come winter, to keep her food stored cold outdoors. Yes, the days were busy, and the work was often hard, taxing her body more than it had ever been before, but satisfying, and peaceful in their way. There was no one telling her what to do, or where to go, just the list in her head, and her own drive. Ultimate freedom to come and go as she pleased.

Maybe she wasn't doing "God's" work, but it was good work, and she liked it. She liked having the freedom to do as she saw fit, without anyone directing her in one particular direction or another. She'd seen the hazards of totalitarian government practices and corruption- government sanctioned secret police and closed door meetings first hand, long before Captain Trips. Haiti had been one such place, where the government enacted laws that were never published, low level arrests for petty crimes, while the higher up echelons of government were untouchable. She didn't particularly care for what she'd seen in the public meetings- demarcation of "public" meetings meant that somewhere there were "private" meetings going on, and that made her nervous. The whole panel of "ad hoc" committee members being swept into office by- what she assumed- was a careful plant also rubbed her the wrong way. There hadn't even really been an election, just blind acceptance that the ones who stepped up were hand picked by the old woman, and therefore beyond reproach. She thought the whole thing stank like a shallow bay at low tide, fetid and dirty.

And so, she'd been seeing to herself, first killing and then beginning the butchering process on a steer with a broken leg she'd seen near Longmont, on her way back from Lafayette, to the Home Depot to pick up some battery packs for her hand tools. The wolves hadn't been a problem. Before traveling for the Corps, she'd learned to shoot, and the Berthoud shooting range wasn't too far, about five miles south, on Colorado route 1, and she had spent a number of afternoons there, practicing by lamplight. She'd nailed that first wolf right between the eyes. _I'd have gotten those other two too, if the damn fool hadn't run out into the field. _

Maggie looked over at the silent, dark haired young man. He was maybe a few years even younger than she was, although his narrow face showed more than his fair share of worry on it. Nice enough looking, she guess. And Lord bless us and keep us- he was one of the committee members, a politician really. One of the very first ones in the new world, and she didn't much care to be anybody's constituent. If she'd wanted that, she could have stayed in Boulder and twiddled her thumbs with the rest of them, waiting for the lights to come back on.

It might be nice to have someone to talk with, she guessed, and he must have done some kind of work with his hands before the- well, before the flu, because he was decently handy, climbing around the truck, and loading crudely butchered beef. That was something. If he would help her put it away, even hobbled as he was, the work would go faster with two sets of hands, and then she'd drive him home, and maybe he'd leave her be. _That would be just fine. Of course it figures, the first person I end up bringing home, is one of the ones who set up their little half-assed Theocracy in Boulder in the first place. Christ on a cracker. _


	4. Chapter 4: Maggie's Farm

Butchering the bull had taken more time than Nick had originally expected, by the time they approached the dirt roads south of Loveland, the sun was low in the sky, and dusk was rapidly approaching. He looked at Maggie, wanted to ask how long it would take- what on earth she was going to do with all this meat, way out here, but his pen stayed loosely held in his fist. She hadn't talked much on the way out to her place, and he wasn't sure if she would welcome the interruption. If she'd elected to live way out here on her own, maybe she didn't want company, maybe she didn't need it, the way he did, after so much time alone. She might, later on, but maybe not. He dozed in and out, intermittently on the drive, and as they pulled up the drive, he blinked, sure he must be dreaming still. At the foot of the long driveway, to the right of it someone- Maggie, of course, had taken down whatever sign was there, and replaced it with a hand carved and painted sign reading simply, "Maggie's Farm." Even in the waning light, Nick could read it clearly, because the sign was illuminated. On either side, a five foot tall lantern glowed with cool friendly unwavering light.

Nick turned to her, his mouth open, and started to write quickly, _Do you have electricity? How? Where d__id those lights come from? _When he passed her the note, Maggie punched the overhead light in the cab of the truck to read Nick's hasty scrawl. "Solar. There's all kinds of solar lights- those ones are LED's, only use three watts an hour. Neat, yeah?" In spite of her irritation at having to bring home a 'Council member' to her safe little homestead, smug pleasure showed on her face as she pulled up to the little house. To either side of the steps leading up the porch, more solar lights glowed welcomingly. Rather than stop out front, she pulled the truck around the house on a dirt track she'd worn herself making many trips this way over the past month. She backed nearly up to the rear porch- more lights, these illuminating a curious hand-built structure to one side of the porch, and a nicely stocked wood pile abutting the cabin.

"If you'll give me a hand, I can fix some dinner, and then I'll give you a ride home. If you think you have that much time that is- It's way past my dinnertime." She paused and Nick had to lean closer to see her mouth in the dusky light. He nodded and opened the bed of the truck, climbed up into it and started handing out pieces of beef. He had more questions he wanted to ask, but for the time being, his hands were occupied. He watched with great interest as Maggie headed into the house, and turned on some other bright, blueish lights, and complemented those with the slightly flickering yellow glow of hurricane and gas lamps. Before long, the little house was brightly lit, and she deposited her stash of meat into a box right by the door. Between the two of them, work went quickly, and Nick climbed down from the bed of the truck, and shouldered his pack, containing his new clothing.

Maggie paused inside, pressed her hands against her back and stretched, her eyes closed. Everything was going to hurt tomorrow, that was for sure. "Well. I'll work on dinner and- if you want to clean up, there's a shower to the back there. Let me show you." Nick watched, as she stepped inside the living room, and filled a bucket from a tap next to the wood stove, his brow knit in consternation. The stove was massive, a six burner cook top complete with oven and some kind of tank on the side with a tap that she drew water from. When she brought the bucket back, he saw it was steaming. "It's not the most efficient system, but I sure hate a cold shower- I don't know about you." Nick shrugged. He'd gotten used to cold showers in Boulder. His- he and Ralph's house- up in the hills had water from a well, but it was icy cold, even in the heat of summer.

The end of the porch was walled off, and a small plastic outdoor storage bin was there, with some hooks and shelves above it. When she opened the door to the curious structure off the deck, Nick saw it was a shower room, with a fiberglass insert, and a small bench next to it, complete with storage boxes underneath, and a few more hooks with clean towels hanging up. He grinned back at her, dark eyes alight with curiosity and she waved him off with a brusque hand.

"I'm just going to go around and pour this in the tank. It should be plenty warm, it's been in the sun all day, but this will help too. Just ah- see that nozzle? Flip the metal latch on it and it will stay on until you're done. Help yourself to a towel."

Nick looked up, and saw a regular garden hose, complete with watering attachment suspended from the ceiling with c-clamps. He wanted to laugh, but even more, he wanted to see if this jury-rigged contraption worked. Maggie left him in privacy and he heard her splashing water into an unseen tank just behind the shower cabinet. He stripped and hung his clothes up on a hook behind the door, examining the structure a little as he did so. In the early summer evening it was downright balmy, and he supposed, that even in the winter, it would beat the hell out of melting snow, or trying to dash out to the creek to wash up. When he depressed the lever on the nozzle, deliciously warm water poured out and he faced up to it for a moment before beginning a quick wash, scrubbing off blood- his own and the cow's. He toweled off and dressed in fresh clothing, feeling like a new man. All the little cabinet needed was one of those fog-free mirrors to shave in and it would be perfect.

The temperature inside the cabin was positively tropical, thanks to the boiling pot of water on the stove sending clouds of steam into the air, even with the front and back doors open for ventilation. Maggie was at the stove, poking something down into the pot and Nick approached her shyly. He knocked at the frame of the open door and she looked up. He held up a thumb and forefinger circle.

"Pretty good, huh?" She looked pleased, and Nick smiled and nodded emphatically. _She's a lot nicer looking when she was smiling_, he thought, seeing the stiff line of her jaw relax, her grey eyes sparkling. "Do you mind watching these a moment while I wash up too?" He shook his head and took the spoon from her, peeking into the pot, grinning when he saw a few yellow potatoes bobbing up and down merrily. Maggie was a blur, as she disappeared into one bedroom and then reappeared with her own set of clothes bundled up to her chest, heading onto the back porch shower as Nick had done. With her out of the cabin, Nick helped himself to a look around. In a few strategic locations- near the doors, above the sink, in the hallway, hooks or small shelves had been installed, recently it looked like, from the pencil marks on the knotty pine walls, and most of them supported lit lanterns. The kitchen was mostly- just a kitchen, although it looked like the electric stove had been recently removed, judging from the cleaner spot on the linoleum floor, and that floorspace was now occupied by a large wood box.

He tipped his head to the side to look at the cookstove, marveling a little. It was a beautiful thing, really, with enameled doors, vents along the sides to heat up the space surrounding it, and that ingenious water tank, filled with steaming water. That explained how she was able to set the water to boiling so quickly. He wondered where she'd gotten it, or if it had been here. Up near the ceiling, it looked like the chimney pipe had been freshly welded. In the kitchen, the large white chest near the door was something of a curiosity to Nick. He recognized it as a freezer, one of the rather compact jobs that some people kept in their garages for extra storage. Leaving the potatoes, he went over to examine it, taking a step back with astonishment when he opened it, and found it quite cold inside, the beef they'd just put away in there, wrapped in plastic, already taking a chill. _But- how? If there's no power, how is she running a freezer?_ He opened the refrigerator next to it, and the same, it wasn't frosty inside, but it was plenty cold. In the freezer up above, a few ice trays sat filled, ready to freshen up a drink. He saw several glass jars of milk, and one of- butter? He took out his notepad to jot some things down, he was so full of questions by now, he was afraid of forgetting something once she came back out.

_How do you have electric__ity way out here? Where did the cookstove come from? How did you get it here? _He marveled and shook his head, sitting at one of the barstools in the kitchen. _Who _are _you?_

When Maggie came back in, she startled the tar out of him by putting a hand on his shoulder, seeing him deep in thought. Nick flailed, overbalanced, toppled backward off the stool, landing on hard on his backside. "Well okay, if you're going to break my furniture, you can just go home right now-" He waved a hand apologetically and stood, righting the stool, patting it to show it was all right. "I know it's all right, I was fucking with you." She gave him a slanted smile, and Nick looked back at her. Freshly cleaned up, her cheeks pink from the warm shower, light freckles showing on her nose and tanned cheeks, she was much lovelier than she had been scowling and musing about politics in the car. And wrapped in a towel, definitely appealing. "I'm just going to- toss my clothes in the hamper." She pointed toward the back bedroom, and Nick nodded, watching her walk off, towel folded neatly around her slight frame. His eyes turned to follow her, and he saw a line of brightly colored feathers tattooed up the back of her thigh. _Jesus._ He shook his head at himself and ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, not much shorter than hers now really.

She seemed happier when she returned, in a baggy t-shirt and equally baggy sweat pants, and bare feet. "Okay, Nick. Have a seat-" She blinked as he pressed his question list into her hands earnestly, holding her hand in his for a moment until she took it. He nodded, then sat on the sofa to her right, leaned forward with his chin on his hands in a listening posture and motioned to her. She rolled her eyes and read his note.

"Oh Christ. Well, okay. I don't have- _electricity_ electricity. Not the way you're thinking. I have three solar generators to the side of the house, which are hooked up to- a whole roof-ful of solar panels. I figure- they can run about 5,000 watts of power each on a continual basis. I'm not sure of that though, so I just have the freezer and fridge hooked up to them, and my little LED lights." She paused, and pointed to four matching hanging lights, strung together like giant christmas bulbs. "If it gets too cloudy in the winter, I'm going to build a winter cold storage box to put on the deck, with a lock on it so raccoons and coyotes won't get in it. And- there's another few battery packs and solar panels out on the workshop too- around back, so I can run a few power tools, and use it to charge up the battery packs when I'm not running anything else. The colemans here- those are mostly LED, with rechargeable packs. I can run those okay, I guess. That all came from Home Depot and Lowe's. There for anybody to pick up for free, now."

As she spoke, her face illuminated, doing a fair impression of the lanterns, until she was grinning broadly. It was obvious to Nick that she was pleased with her ingenuity, devising a way to have food storage and necessary tools in a way that was independent of any other power, save that Nature provided. Nick whapped his forehead with his palm. _Solar power, of course. You couldn't run a whole house with it- but a few necessary appliances? Sure. Obviously that worked just fine._

"So that's the power. Not a lot, I guess I could run a little tv, and it keeps my CB up and running too." Nick sat up sharply, eyebrows raise. He drew a question mark in the air, nodding to her urgently. "Yes, I have a CB. If something happened- I'd need to be able to get in touch with someone, right?" Nick took out his pad and started to write hurriedly. "Hey now, one question sheet at a time, Jack." Maggie pointed a finger at him, and looked back at the first sheet. "Anyway, that's the power. The cookstove was a little harder. I had to drive clear the fuck to Montana for that, 11 hours in the truck- one way. I found a loader, hoisted it up in the crate, and drove it back. On a dolly it wasn't so bad, although it slipped once and bashed the fuck out of my leg-" She pulled up the leg of her sweatpants, showing the scar of a healing gash on her shin. Nick winced sympathetically he had a similar scar down his thigh from the misfired pistol.

She stood and moved to the kitchen work top and took out a cut of beef, slicing one end of it into steaks. "Can you still read me from here?" Nick frowned, and stood up, sat on the unruly stool across from her. From across the room he had trouble making her words out. He rested his chin on his hand, and rested his second question sheet on the surface in front of her. This close, and freshly showered, she smelled wonderful, he decided. Clean, and a little like woodsmoke, and lavender. He wanted to close his eyes and savor, but then he would miss her answers.

"Uhm- what else-" Her lower lip moved, as she thought over this next questions, reading them from the paper. Nick slid the second paper across the smooth stone countertop to her like a bookie accepting a bet. She turned it over, and it read, _Does your CB work? If it does, can I use it to call back to Bould__er, and let my people know where I am?_ A suppressed grin twisted her mouth slightly and she looked back at him coolly, "I don't know, _can_ you?" He started in protest, not sure at first if she was making fun of his handicap, or his grammar. She tipped her head to the side, eyebrows raised, "Unless you and the guy on the other end know morse code, and you've got a whistle, I don't see the point- but I'd be happy to call in, if that's what you want. You'll be home soon anyway, is it that big of a deal?"

_We'v__e had some other people go missing recently. I don't want to worry anyone._ Nick wrote, and handed to her. With Mother Abagail gone, and Charles Impening gone as well recently, some folks were getting a little dodgy about who was still around.

"Oh sure, I understand." Nick wondered if maybe she would invite him to stay, if he called in and let everyone know he was all right. Part of him wanted to. Part of him wanted to very badly. Fresh and clean like this, she seemed all right. But first he needed to get in touch. He hadn't seen or anyone since Ralph at breakfast, before the other man went out to work at the power plant. When she opened her mouth to speak again he circled the letters "CB" and looked at her urgently. Maggie rolled her eyes and gave him an absentminded wave. "Yes yes. I'm getting to it." She picked up the sliced steaks and a, pan and carried them to the cookstove.

The CB was on a small table next to the two seater sofa, the volume turned off. Maggie sat closest to it and flicked the switch and picked up the microphone with a, squeak of static. Nick sat next to her, looking over her shoulder. He couldn't hear it, of course, but he could see the lights come on when it was in use. Again he thought of how- sweet and earthy she smelled, and felt the temperature in the room rise a few degrees. She pressed talk, and cleared her throat while Nick began to write. "Come in Boulder, channel 14 Boulder Free Zone-"

Ralph's Oklahoma drawl came in clearly thanks to his booster, and Nick smiled, relieved when Maggie repeated his words for him. "Boulder free zone, Ralph Breckner here, I copy you. Who'm I talkin' to here? Over."

Maggie cleared her throat and looked at Nick, accepting his note before she continued. "This is Maggie English, I'm over in Loveland. I'm here with somebody you know, Nick Andros. I ran into him just outside of Longmont." Shred looked Nick's note and started to read it for Ralph. "I've got a note here from him. He says-'Hi Ralph, I headed to Longmont to look for some new reading materials. I saw a wolf pack in the field on the way back and one bit me. Maggie fixed me up pretty well. She has quite a place out here. We butchered a cow and she offered to fix dinner. She said she can drive me back to Boulder afterward. How are things there?' Over."

While Ralph talked, Maggie repeated his words for Nick. "Well hell Nicky, it's sure good to hear from you, well- you know, Stu and Fran both came by, and we was gettin' worried about you. You said you got bit? It weren't rabid, was it? Over."

Maggie answered before Nick had a chance to write, "No, not rabid. I was butchering a cow and they must have smelled it. They were just hungry, Nick ran out into the field to wave them away from me, and they fell for it, in a big way. He seems okay though. Over."

"Well hell, I guess I'm sure glad you were there then. Nick, Glen came by too, wanting to talk to you-" here Ralph paused, unsure about the stranger in the audience between he and Nick, "'bout some committee business. You'll want to stop by and see him I guess, when you get in. You think you'll be in tonight? Over."

Nick wrote, and passed it along to Maggie, who read for him, "He says, 'Yes, I'll be home late tonight. If he's up I'll stop in at his place. I want to talk to him too.' That's all. If you all don't mind, I'd like to get something to eat. Some of us working stiffs still have things to do after supper other than gab with one another." She cleared her throat noisily before adding, "Over."

Ralph laughed heartily, and Maggie turned to Nick, explaining, "He's laughing." Nick smiled and nodded, feeling a weight roll from his shoulders. His brain was full of things to talk with the rest of the committee about, but that could wait until he got back. Ralph would tell the others he was fine, and they wouldn't worry. "All right. See you soon Nicky, good talkin' with you Maggie, look forward to seeing you in the Zone. You can get here all right? Over."

"I don't have any problem finding Boulder, thanks. Over." Her answer was crisp and a little chilly, and Nick saw her lift her chin slightly.

"Awright, we'll be seeing you. Over and out."


	5. Chapter 5: Dancing in the Dark

Over dinner, Nick learned that Maggie had been in Nicaragua, and Haiti, in the Peace corps, not that different than Rudy, really. The thought endeared her to him. He wrote with one hand, and ate with the other, not willing to give up completely on either one. The food was superb, fresh meat and hearty root vegetables sauteed with homemade butter. Maggie admitted that the butter was something of an experiment, she had read about the process but not attempted it before yesterday. Nick shook his head and rubbed his stomach happily. The last time he'd had real butter had been in Shoyo, before the power went out and the rich taste of it flooded his mouth like the golden light of an early morning. While the steaks and potatoes were cooking, Maggie had put together some fluffy biscuits, with even more of the butter, and they melted apart in heavenly flakes. A few times, Nick had to close his eyes and give up writing questions- he had so many questions about her- in order to focus completely on the meal in front of him.

_I think the last time I had a meal like this was at Mother Abagail's in Nebraska. Thank you, Maggie. _He leaned back in his chair, feeling like a happy bed-tick, about to burst. He picked up a heavy drinking glass and drained the last of the fresh milk from it anyway, licking the white moustache that it left on his upper lip. Maggie laughed at that, and he offered a slanted smile. She wasn't exceptionally beautiful, especially not when she was giving him a sarcastic answer to an honest question, he thought, but when she smiled- that was something else entirely.

"I said I'd make you dinner. I was planning on eating anyway." She nudged her plate away, and daubed at a spot of butter with her finger, licking it clean. Nick smiled, and the gesture almost made him want to blush. Instead, he turned his attention to his notepad. _What was it you did, in Nicaragua and Haiti?_ He passed the note to her and looked up expectantly.

Maggie read and half smiled. That had been a good time in her life, when she felt useful and deeply connected to the people around her. Now, in this strange new world, she realized that her friends in those countries were probably faring better than here in what had been America. If they were still alive. Most of them already lived without electricity, or plumbing, and had learned to adapt to the world around them, rather than forcing the world to adapt to them. "I helped install wells, and water pumps in rural areas. Fucking glad I did, aren't I?" She winked at Nick and he ducked his head slightly, resisting the urge to blush. He wrote instead, _Did you do that here too?_

"Of course I did. As soon as I found this place, I installed a rope pump at the old well here on the property. I was lucky that there was already a well built, installing a cement cap would have been the hardest part. All I had to do here was strip out the electronics, and retrofit the old school materials. I set it up to run from that well, through a bunch of flexible insulated tubes to refill my rain barrels when I need to." She leaned her chin on her hand, and her grey eyes looked almost wisftul, "What I'd really like to do, is build a high water tank, with a cistern. I know how, but I'd need to find a tank. But then, I bet I could pump the water right up to it with one of my little solar pumps when it got low, and even connect it to the plumbing in the house. That's a little ways off though, and I'd be better off working on that project when winter wasn't staring down at me a few pages down the calendar, you know?" Nick nodded. It was the same concern he had when he was still on the road, that winter was just around the corner, and it promised to be a hard one.

"What about you, Mr. Chairman-of-the-Board? What did you do before?" Most people didn't ask much about the past, or about before, unless someone offered that they had been a doctor, or a lawyer, or something else useful. Nick wasn't sure how they'd take it, to find out one of the founding committee members had been- well, what had he been? A wanderer, he supposed, technically homeless and working odd jobs to get by.

His face reddened as he looked down at the notepad and drummed his pen against it, not sure how to answer her question, or even if he wanted to. Finally, he wrote, _I was an orphan. The orphanage went bust __when I was 16 and I traveled around to avoid getting picked up. Mostly I worked on farms and sometimes in different towns, doing chores for people._

Maggie read and bowed her head. She pushed her dark hair out of her face and shook her head, "And now you're holding semi-elected political office-" She laughed somewhat bitterly, and Nick cocked his head at the strange look on her face, "Well- shit. Jimmy Carter was a peanut farmer, you're not far from that I guess." She pointed a warning finger at him when he started to grin, "I still don't want any part of all that. But if you've worked on farms before- that's something anyway. You might even survive the winter, knowing a little something like that."

Nick felt himself breathe a sigh of relief, feeling as if he'd been approved of somehow. Going into the town meeting, he'd felt the same kind of relief when the Ad Hoc committee had been voted in permanently, in toto. _I guess I might. If any of us do._ A long moment passed between them when she read his note and she capped it with a sigh like water slowly draining from a leaky tire. She stood up and pushed away from the table, collecting dishes from their places on the kitchen worktop. Nick stood as well and she froze, her eyes locking with his momentarily. As he touched her arm gently, she set the dishes down hard and looked up at him sharply, her face pinched. "That's a hell of a thought, why would you say a thing like that- for fuck's sake?" She frowned bitterly and waved a hand when Nick reached for his pad, "No, I know you didn't say it- you wrote it. But still. That's a helluva thing for _you_ to be saying. Don't let your constituents hear you talking like that. Writing like that. Whatever." Once more, she scooped up the dishes, and brushed the scraps into a plastic pail by the sink, turning away from Nick, leaving him to watch the silent language of her body.

He was used to reading people's bodies though, and felt her tone rather than heard it. It was all over her face, there had been that moment of- _What? _He thought, _Connection?_ He'd felt something, that was for sure, an instant of heat when their eyes locked that was still making him tingle, and then she'd pulled away from him forcibly, redirecting her attention and turning so he couldn't see her words. She dumped some of the warm potato water into the bucket as well and filled a basin in the sink with warm water from the stove, adding flakes of soap and put the dishes in to soak. He wanted to say something to her, anything to break the tension between them, and felt that old frustration- _If I could only _talk-rise up inside of him again. He moved to stand behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder gently. She turned around quickly, nearly clobbering him with a spatula and he took a step back, his face apologetic. "I still have things I need to do here- animals to feed, and dishes to do- and you've got to get home, Mr. President."

Nick rolled his eyes at that last and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, pointing to his chest, then the stack of dishes in the sink. "Oh well- if you insist, go right ahead-" Maggie seemed to relax some and stepped out of the way, clapping him on the shoulder, and shoved a scrub brush into his hand. "Go easy on the cast iron though, it doesn't need soap, just some good hot water from the stove."

Nick nodded and saluted her with the scrub brush and she rewarded him with another 10,000 watt smile. He grinned and turned his head, watching her step into heavy black boots with the laces loose and the tongues flopping forward like panting dogs. She headed out into the back yard, around the truck, and Nick saw several strings of bright blueish lights, giving up selections of the farmyard, leading out to the barn. It was another good idea, one he supposed had been in practice in many rural areas, especially where snow was common in the winter. As she walked, her narrow frame bopped along, barely visible, to a beat that was unheard by Nick, or anyone else and he thought to himself, _that's what music looks like. A woman with dancing in the dark,__ lit by fairy light._


	6. Chapter 6: We Don't want a Brain Drain

Stu looked at Nick incredulously across the kitchen table. Fran sat to his left, Glen to his right, and each of their faces bore a similar expression. He looked down at the note Nick had laid in front of them his description of Maggie's cabin, complete with freezer, and if not electric light, at least sustainable light through the winter. He'd done his best to not embellish or make up details he wasn't certain about. The rope pump was a novel idea, and one they could use here in Boulder, even if the power went out again over the winter, which it was certain to. "And she's living down there on her own?" Stu shook his head and reread Nick's note, looking at some of the diagrams, of the stove and shower set up he'd reproduced as well as possible from memory. Nick nodded and looked at Glen, seeing the consideration on the older man's face. He took the notepad back and wrote again.

_My concern I guess, is how much she knows. She worked for the Peace Corps before the flu, building wells and irrigation systems in__ rural areas. I don't doubt that she can take care of herself, and there are a lot of people here who need just that kind of knowledge. If not now, then next spring. But she's pretty dead set against living in Boulder, and seems to really hate the committe__e specifically._Glen's grey brows knotted together as he read that last, and Nick guessed that was the point that most concerned the old sociologist.

"That's the question, isn't it? We don't want to suffer a- a brain drain, but- my hunch is still that our Adversary is going to collect most of the techies. The people who like for things to run on time- and the people who can make things run on time. I have a feeling the people on our side who can do those things are a little thin on the ground, we need to keep all we can. Maybe whether they object to our system or not-"

"Oh now we're back to locking people up because they don't like how we're running things? This is exactly what came up last time, Nick, when you named Stu town marshal." Frannie interrupted and shook her head firmly, "Are you saying you want to keep her here against her will, Nick?"

Stu shuddered faintly, although no one but Fran saw it. He'd had his share of being locked up in the too recent past. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

Nick wrote, _I don't either. And I don't think she would cooperate even if we did get her here. I think we ought to see if we can go to her, and maybe she would be willing to teach some of us what she knows about well building and pumping water._ _If she was in__ the Peace Corps_ _she should know something about getting people organized, and we need that. _He paused thoughtfully before writing. _I think she would be more likely to cooperate on her home turf._

"Giving her the home field advantage, as it were, eh, Nicky?" Glen raised his bushy eyebrows and smiled soberly. "There's something to that, I suppose. Do you think it's something for the next committee meeting on the second?"

Somewhat to Glen's surprise, Nick shook his head firmly. _I think it ought to be an info__rmal visit. I'd like it if maybe just the a few of us went down there to meet her. Seven of us might be a little much. If we have to narrow it down, I would like you three to come._

"Let me guess, you think she might warm up to another girl, is that right?" Fran looked back at Nick and pursed her lips slightly. Nick shrugged, then nodded. "I don't like the idea of holding anyone captive, if you think she'd be willing to help, I guess I'm in."

"You know, Larry's pretty personable, and Ralph is handy, he'd probably take a shine to some of those inventions you mentioned-" To Glen's surprise, Nick cut him off with a shake of his head, drawing his hand diagonally through the air before he started writing.

_I want Ralph to be here, so we can call him on the CB if__ we need to. If she's going to insist on staying out there, it might be worthwhile to set up a second monitored channel. Ralph is the one to do that._ Nick thought of Larry,with his blonde hair and comfortable good looks and humor and frowned slightly. Larry had Lucy and Leo, but for some reason the thought of introducing Maggie to him made Nick feel uneasy. Not because Maggie might dislike him, but because of the opposite._No Larry._

"All right, all right, lad, and when do you propose we make this visit?" Glen held his hands up and shook his head, placating him.

_Tomorrow or the next day at the latest, before the next committee meeting._ _If it goes well, maybe she could present at the meeting on the second._ Nick set the pencil down, indicating he was finished. He looked at the other three expectantly, watching their faces until they nodded.

"All right Nick, I guess it wouldn't hurt to go out there and have a look. I'm with Fran, I don't like the idea of locking people up either, and to be honest with you, I'm pretty curious about this set up too. Like to see it for myself." Stu nodded back at Nick and gave him a half smile. "You let us know, Nicky, me and Fran would be glad to see the doins over there. Tomorrow's fine with me, if it's all right with you, Glen."

Nick smiled and nodded happily when Glen consented, part of him looking forward to the trip out. As he lay in bed that night, he meant to work on a mental list of questions to ask Maggie, along with the others tomorrow, and instead found himself remembering her dancing under the blueish lights in her yard. Heat crept into his face as the image in his head twisted, envisioning her swaying back and forth under the warm slick spray of her shower instead. He wondered if that feather tattoo went all the way up the back of her leg, or what else might have been hidden under that towel.


End file.
